To Claim the Mountain Man

Chapter 17

HEATH

Isla wasn't lying when she said she didn't have a handy bone in her body. But that didn't stop her from attempting to follow my instructions as we installed the first section of her new bookshelf wall.

Attempting  was the key word.

"Christ, Isla, you're gonna drill a hole through your hand like that," I chuckled, sidling up beside her to readjust her grip on the drill she wielded.

I showed her how we'd anchor the bookshelf into the wall on one side, then told her to give it a try on the other. So far, she'd done a better job of putting holes into her wall than installing the bookshelf.

My hand settled overtop hers, holding the yellow Dewalt steady over the pencil-marked spot on her wall. Her fingers struggled to wrap fully around the drill, and I marveled at their delicate size. I wondered what they might look like wrapped around my girth instead.

Fucking hell.

My mind had been prisoner to these sinful thoughts since I spread her wide on the dock the night before. Since I slipped my fingers beneath her panties and tangled with the soft, blonde curls covering her sex. Since I tasted her sweet, musky arousal that coated my fingers and dripped like a glaze down her virgin thighs...

Every time I closed my eyes, images of Isla coming undone played in my mind. I'd fucked my hand three times last night to the memory.

Then, in an effort to distract myself from these depraved thoughts about my best friend's little sister, I started building this bookshelf. It was three in the morning by the time I looked at the clock and realized I needed to go to bed. When I returned to my workshop this morning, I added the finishing touches, carving little roses into the shelves' edges to match the rest of her ornate bedroom furniture.

It'd be some time before I finished building shelves to cover the entirety of her bedroom wall, but this little structure was a good enough start for now.

"Oops," Isla squeaked sheepishly, glancing up at me from over her shoulder. Tendrils of honey-blonde waves fell across her brow. "I tried warning you. My hand-eye coordination is seriously lacking."

I snorted. "More like non-existent."

"Hey!" she protested with a laugh, jabbing an elbow into my ribs. "Bold words for someone not holding the drill."

Isla lifted the drill from the pencil mark and waved the device in the air menacingly. Her arm wavered beneath the tool's weight, which only pulled more laughter from my chest.

"Put the drill down before you hurt yourself," I teased, reaching out to take it from her.

But Isla scrunched her nose and tilted her chin up in defiance. "No way. I may be horrible, but I want to learn."

The corner of my mouth curled in a smirk. She was stubborn, but I admired her resilience. I'd assumed she'd jump at the first chance to take a step back and let me handle the manual labor, but Isla continued to surprise me.

Sure, I could've installed the bookshelf on my own and been finished half an hour ago. But damn me to hell, I was unwilling to forfeit any opportunity to spend time with this girl....

"Fine," I agreed. "But I'm helping to hold it steady until you're used to the weight. Otherwise, even I won't be able to save this drywall."

Victorious, Isla grinned as she turned back to the anchor points. With a puff up toward her forehead, she blew the disheveled blonde strands away from her brow and narrowed her eyes at her target. Her tongue slipped between her pinched lips, the picture of focus, and I felt her muscles shift before starting the drill.